


Coming Clean

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Series: Flying Solo In Tandem [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Assertive woman, Awesome Molly Hooper, Dorks in Lust, F/M, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is Not a Virgin, Shower Sex, Woman on Top, and possibly love, definitely NSFW, molly hooper is a sexy mofo, resolving sexual tension, sherlock holmes gets hot and bothered, slightly kinky, switchiness agogo, up for it detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 13:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10387911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: Sherlock, a rather worked-up detective.Molly, a rather intrigued pathologist.Add in an unexpected discovery and a shower in the dead of night: However will *this* play out?Final story in this series. Utterly, gloriously smutty. Enjoy!





	

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Still really, really NSFW (seriously, it's mainly smutty smutty filth). This is the last story in this series, so thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed and given kudos- You guys rock. And now...

* * *

**~ COMING CLEAN ~**

* * *

 

He’s beautiful, that’s the thing of it.

To Molly, he’s always been very, very beautiful.

Wide shoulders. Narrow hips. Long, lithe legs and powerful thighs. That perfect, rounded arse that just calls out to be squeezed and kneaded and appreciated. Those dark, tumbledown curls that beckon her hands. His eyes, his lips. His cheekbones. His voice. His mind, sharp and mercurial. His long-fingered hands, the veins raised beneath his flesh like secret roads to ruin, roads from which music and secrets flow. _They are roads she’d gladly trace and learn and make into her own._

Molly’s felt lust before, she’s felt attraction before, but in all her life, she’s never felt anything like what she feels when she looks at Sherlock Holmes-

So when she spies him in her shower, water sluicing down his naked body and eyes shut tight against the shower’s spray, perhaps it’s not so surprising that she stops.

Stares.

She knows she should make her presence obvious but she’s not sure if she can bare to interrupt the sight before her.

Sherlock’s leaning against the shower, his weight on one taut, outstretched hand, his palm flat against the damp tile. The other hand he has wrapped around his cock, fingers tightening as he strokes himself. His feet are planted squarely, as if he fears his pleasure will knock him off-balance somehow. He’s biting his lips, his tongue occasionally darting out to wet them. A jagged tumble of curses and pleas falls from his mouth and he’s jerking his hips sharply, puffing out needy, enticing little pants in time with each undulation- “ Just like that,” he’s moaning, “Oh just like that, my darling, my sweet little thing...”

Molly can hear her name being muttered amid the stream of swear-words and nonsense, can hear him pleading with her to finish him. The slow ache of arousal which she’d awoken with is slow no more, her belly tightening with lust as she watches each thrust and jerk of Sherlock’s hips. As she watches the taut muscles of his arse flex and push, the pale flesh calling out to her hands.

For a moment she thinks- no, she _tells_ herself- that she’s just going to watch.

That she’s just going to wait for him to finish.

That when he does she’ll pretend to have just woken up and that she didn’t just witness him frigging himself senseless to the thought of her in her own bathroom-

_After all, what else can she do?_

That’s the plan, she tells herself stoutly, and it’s a good plan too. There’s no need to do anything foolish, or rash. _No need to make this awkward, not when you can talk to him tomorrow_. Molly’s a realist, at least about Sherlock: She knows  there’s a chance that he’ll run away screaming at the notion she’s watched him getting himself off. She knows if she interrupts he won’t know what to do. So she stays silent: There’s no need to make things worse than they have to be, there’s no need to frighten him...

Her decision made, Molly nods to herself, takes a step back, intending to turn on her heel and sneak back to her bed without disturbing Sherlock-

Unfortunately for her, however, this plan did not take into account Toby, or his tendency to sneak up behind people.

 _Of all the pussies causing trouble tonight,_ she muses, _I didn’t think it wold be this one..._

For her single step backwards lands, as might be expected, on his tail and he gives, as also might be expected, an indignant yowl of protest at the pain.

Instantly the litany of moans from within the shower stall stops.

Molly turns to look down at the cat, her attention diverted, and as she leans down  to scoop him up, she sees a pair of blue-green eyes flash to her bathroom mirror. Sees Sherlock’s reflection in the glass as he meets her gaze and realises what she’s seen.

He opens his mouth silently but no words come out.

A flush of red blossoms over his pale cheeks and all the way down his chest, like it’s determined to draw her eyes to his hard, slick cock.

For a moment she considers turning tail and running. Locking the door to her bedroom and never even looking at him again. The mortification- the awfulness- of having been caught spying on him is more than she thinks she can stand-

But even as she makes this decision, she sees the way his face slackens, eyes going slightly blank as he starts buffering, and in that moment she realises that, should she turn from this, should she run away, it’s entirely possible that Sherlock will never be able to bring himself to talk with her about this again. In fact, it’s possible that he’ll bloody erase it, rather than suffering the embarrassment of trying to sort things out.

 _No,_ she tells herself. _No, that’s not happening_ _on my watch_.

So she straightens her spine. Steps into the bathroom. Mindful of Toby, she closes the door behind her and walks swiftly forward until she’s in front of Sherlock. He’s still under the spray. His lips are still moving, no sound coming out; the hand at his cock has stilled its motion, though his breath sounds overly loud in the close, damp room.

“You’re- You heard-” As if suddenly remembering what he’s doing, he looks down to his cock and jerks his hand hastily away. Turns clumsily from her, turns off the showerhead. He frowns again.

The buffering look is making a comeback.

Molly knows that she should be gentle. Understanding. That despite her own arousal, she should handle this with sensitivity-

Which is why she’s genuinely surprised when she finds herself stepping in under the showerhead, grabbing Sherlock’s curls and hauling his head down to hers.

He lets out  a gasp which she promptly swallows as her mouth descends on his, her free hand rising up to switch back on the water.

_The shower hisses to life and it feels bloody divine._

Their lips meet, the motion so hard that their teeth clack, and then suddenly, suddenly they’re all over one another. Kissing. Sucking. Licking. Biting.

With a small shove she pushes him farther into the shower stall, his back hitting the tile, his hands jerked wide and away from his cock once again.

Without stopping she presses him up against the wall behind him, the wet, hot, solidness of him like bliss against her own chest. Her own belly. Her own legs.

 _He feels so fucking good between them_.

And then they’re kissing, they’re wrapped around each other, and Molly honestly doesn’t care whether this is a good idea or not, she just knows she doesn’t ever want it to stop. The shower’s still going, plastering her dressing gown to her skin, but Sherlock’s hands find the fabric and pull it off. Throw it away. It lands, sopping and forgotten, outside the shower stall, but the shock of water against bare skin barely even registers for her.  For he’s pulling her to him. Kissing her soundly. His teeth graze against her throat and his lips suck and bite along her collar bone. She can feel his still-hard cock against her stomach and she take shim in hand, squeezes him- “Like this?” she asks, and he nods. “Is this what you want from me?”

He nods helplessly again.

“Oh Christ, yes.” He pulls back, head hitting the tile, and lets out a huff of breath that’s somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Knowing she has the upper hand, Molly steps in closer to him, working him steadily. looking up at him through lowered lashes and narrowed eyes. His free hand has grasped the back of her head, pulled her towards him. He ruts into her hand even as he angles her head so that he can kiss her, his tongue sliding inside her mouth, his nails digging into her scalp. She lets out a low, guttural moan at the feel of it and she doesn’t know what it is, but suddenly Sherlock’s reversed their positions. Suddenly it’s her backed into the shower, not him.

He takes the hand at his cock, presses it above Molly’s head.

The other one joins it, their panting breathe mingling in the wet, steam-filled room.

“Spread your legs,” he says hoarsely, and the spike of arousal which goes through Molly is intense enough to make her breath hitch.

Her belly is tying itself into knots.

“Why should I?” she snaps back, and to her surprise he transfers both of her hands to one of his, his free hand- the one he’d been stroking himself with- sliding down her belly to slip inside her wet, throbbing cunt. To tease her clit gently.

“Because,” he says tightly, leaning in to whisper in her ear, “I’ve been dreaming of eating you until you scream, and I’m not going to let a quickie in the shower- or your bloody stubbornness- get in the way of that. So-”

He gives her backside a slight, sharp tap.

Molly shows her teeth to him. Pulls one hand free and slaps him back. He gasps in pleasure at the pain.

He recaptures her hand and she lets him. “Spread your legs, Molly,” he says softly, darkly, and he gives her another tap, slightly harder. This time she merely jerks against his hold. Nods.

She realises, somewhat disjointedly, that she’s enjoying being pinned like this.

“If we’re doing this,” he’s saying, “then we’re doing it properly. For both of us. You don’t get to be the only one to play, and you don’t get to be the only one to decide who comes- Is that clear?”

And he leans down, kisses her again. This time thought it’s calmer. Harder. Fiercer.

The throb in her pussy aches with the feel of it.

Still holding his eyes, Molly slowly, deliberately spreads her legs. Raises her chin to look at him in challenge. He grins at her, nodding his encouragement- “Oh, that’s it, that’s my sweet little Molly-” as he brushes his thumb gently against her clit. His mouth comes down as suckles softly onto her left breast; She moans at even that brief contact, jerking her hips towards him as with another slow, dark smile he sinks to his knees. Spreads her open, laying one leg over his shoulder. Splaying his hands at her arse and holding her steady for him.

He leans in and breathes in the scent of her, and Molly thinks she might explode with want. She doesn't remember when she started, but she's suddenly aware that she's muttering, "please, please, please," under her breath.

“So sweet,” he breathes. “So good...” He looks up at her, nuzzles his cheek against her belly, almost like an animal wanting to be petted, and then- _Then-_

Then his tongue is in her.

His fingers.

His lips.

_It feels fucking wonderful._

He takes her hard and fast, licking and touching and sucking every inch of her, until it’s all Molly can do to stay on her feet. She was close before she realises, but she hadn’t thought to do anything about it. Now she’s holding on to her control by the narrowest of edges, and it seems Sherlock is doing his level best to push her off that cliff. Her hips work against his mouth, her hands tangle in his hair and tug it. Now it’s _her_ that’s moaning _his_ name, now it’s _her_ that’s on the edge. His nails dig into the flesh of her arse as he slides a third finger inside her and suddenly, suddenly she’s coming. She feels like she's flying apart. The pleasure and the pain have mixd together, making her body shake and her orgasm fizz like fireworks-

“Fuck,” she pants. She can’t seem to stop shaking. “Fuck Sherlock, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

When she comes back down from it he’s looking up at her. Grinning from ear to ear. There’s traces of her juices on her lips and jaw, for all the shower’s still on.

“That’s so much better when it’s live than in my head,” he says, and though she knows she should want respite, all Molly can feel is a desire for more, more, _more_. All she can do is pull him to her; With a dark grin of her own she takes her leg from his shoulder- he kisses her ankle as she does- and then digs her fingers into the scruff of his neck. Yanks him into standing. Suddenly they're chest to chest.

“Through there,” she hisses, gesturing towards the bathroom door. “My couch, your cock, no arguments, NOW.”

And she pushes him lightly towards the door; he stumbles through it, just barely catching his balance as she turns the shower off. He falls on her again. Kissing her. Squeezing her. Neither of them can keep their hands off one another long enough to get to the sofa, and so Molly finds herself manhandling him to the floor. Pushing him into place. Though they’re both wet, and the water should have washed most of her natural lubrication away, she finds herself eager to feel him inside her.

The way he’s kissing her and pinching at her nipples her is making her own desire peak again.

“Back to the sofa,” she tells him, manoeuvring between his long legs so that she’s kneeling, one of his knees against her mound and his still-hard cock sliding against his belly. His back is pressing up against the side of the couch, one cushion swaying precariously above his head as if daring him to knock it over and onto the floor.  With a wicked look at him she leans down and takes the head of his cock- just the head- into her mouth. Tongues it. Suckles it. Her left hand comes down to stroke his perineum and balls as she does so, her lips tight and wet around him as he moans and thrusts shallowly into her mouth.

“Molly,” he pants. “Oh, fuck me, Molly, fuck me..." His lips have pulled back from his teeth in a grimace, he’s so close.  

Still keeping her eyes on him Molly works his shaft, taking more of him into her mouth with each thrust of his hips. When he’s hard enough for her- and while she’s reasonably sure he won’t come- she pulls away with a wet, wicked-sounding pop. His eyes go right to her and he kisses her so fiercely she can barely breathe. _She certainly can't stop_. His big, hot hands come up and cup her breasts, they squeeze them and knead them and press them together until she’s helpless with the pleasure of it. The joy of it. She wants so badly to feel him take her breast in his mouth that when he finally does she hisses in pleasure. He bites and nips at her until he has her moaning helplessly for more. She slings one leg over him. Straddles him. Kisses him until he gasps. And then, whether it’s her or him or both of them deciding it she doesn't know but she’s in his lap. Draped over his hips. She feels the head of his cock breach her. Slide inside her.

_The friction of her breasts moving against his chest as he presses inside her is absolutely fucking divine._

His arms are around her waist, holding her tight and taking some of her weight. He thrusts up into her while holding her steady, keeping her close to him. Tight to him. She gasps at the feeling of being opened, widened- “Fuck me,” she mutters, because that’s what she’s always wanted to mutter. “Fuck me sweetheart, oh God, make me come-”

It’s so good to finally say it out loud, so good to say the words in front of him. and Sherlock seems only too happy to oblige her. "It's so fucking good, Molly," he mutters. "I'm going to make it so fucking good for you..."

She bounces in his lap, riding his cock. He thrusts up into her with ever-growing energy, his mouth at her throat and her lips and her nipples. His long, clever fingers digging into her clit, Her arse. Her own fingers dig into his back, his spine, so hard she leaves scratch marks behind. They’re out of control, their pleasure mounting. Coiling. Sherlock’s howling for her, begging her to finish him, and without warning he tips them over. Manoeuvres her onto her hands and knees.

“Like this?” she hisses, dropping her head and tilting her backside into the air.

“Just like that,” he whispers raggedly, pulling her close and kissing her again.

Within seconds his cock is back inside her, fucking her deeper, and it’s in this new position that she finally comes. That she finally finds completion. She feels the spark of it go through her, her veins turning to fire, her limbs almost liquifying-

With a yell Sherlock joins her, gritting his teeth and coming too. He collapses against her back, pressing kisses to her shoulder-blades and spine as she feels the remains of his climax begin to trickle out of her. The inside of her thighs is sticky with him and all they've done together. Her skin is covered with his sweat and his scent.

_She suddenly feels both incredibly energised and completely bloody knackered._

“Are you alright?” he asks after a moment, breathless and, by the sound of things, a little shy now that they’ve, well, now that they’ve shagged one another thoroughly.

Molly scrambles up into kneeling and turns to look at him; in the dark his eyes are wide and questioning. Uncertain.

 _He’s not sure where he stands now,_ she suspects.

She leans back against his chest, pulls his arms until they’re wrapped around her. Her back hits his chest and he loses his balance. He ends up pulling her more tightly to him, laughing at his own clumsiness. He tucks his chin over her shoulder, his cheek against hers. Taking one of his lands she laces their fingers together. Pulls it to her mouth and presses a kiss to his pulse, the feel of it fluttering against her lips. He makes the most delicious little moan as she does so.

“Does that answer your question?” Molly asks softly, looking at him over her shoulder.

Slowly- carefully, with the air of one taking a massive risk, Sherlock leans forward and presses a kiss to her shoulder. She twists in his arms to look at him and he follows this with a kiss to her cheek and then another to her chin. Her eyes flutter closed and he kisses her eyelids. Her earlobe.

It's only when she opens her eyes again that he finally, finally presses a chaste little kiss to her mouth.

“I liked that,” he says softly. “But then I suspected I would with you, darling Molly...”

She looks at him again, asks the question she should probably leave to tomorrow but knows she won’t. “Do you want to do it again?” she murmurs. “Not, you know, right now, because, well, we’re only human, but, well... Again? Tomorrow maybe?” She knows she sounds nervous and she doesn't want to be, but she has to know.

He's too important to her not to ask.

He smiles and nods. "If that's what you want," he says softly. He's staring rather hard at their entwined fingers as he adds, "And any other day after tomorrow, if you want that too..."

Molly feels a puff of happiness burst within her, rather different from the loud, fierce need of the last hour or so. “I'd like that,” she says softly, before adding, “Tomorrow, we'll talk about it a bit more, but for tonight...” 

She laughs, shakes her head. A whoop of joy washes through her and when she smiles at it he smiles back, gorgeous and happy and Sherlockian and _him_.

“Let’s go to bed, Sherlock, “ she tells him, and when she’ s pulled him to his feet and kissed him soundly one last time, that’s precisely what they do.


End file.
